


Bouquets of Flowers

by SandriaC (SandrC)



Series: Balance My Deeds With My Misdeeds [4]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Death and Taxes, Kill Your Darlings, Rite of rememberence, Sorry Not Sorry, Wakes & Funerals, all my friends are dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-08-27 15:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8407525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandrC/pseuds/SandriaC
Summary: We remember those who have fallen for those below will forget. Let them find their peace in death.(And the bouquet of flowers at their rite says more about them than words ever could.)





	1. Adonis

**Author's Note:**

> I am so not sorry. I am so not sorry that I am gloating even now. I wrote this to be sad and I know you will be sad because I was sad writing it.
> 
> Have fun guessing who dies when ;3c

The Bureau of Balance hadn't felt like this since Boyland. Shit, the Reclaimers hadn't felt like this since Goldcliff with Sloane and Hurley. For this sort of thing to happen was...unexpected.

(It was peaceful, they were told, and painless. Fuck peaceful and painless though! What about them?! What about those left behind?! What about the Bureau?! It was inherently selfish and fuck if they didn't give two shits about being selfish.)

(Suddenly Lucas and his actions made more sense. He still was a dick though. That would never change.)

Angus clutched at his hat and wrung it nervously. He had the most reason to feel this way. He had such a big responsibility now. Sixteen was not the age someone normally succeeded the head of a massive organization of world-saving heroes.

Even if they were forgotten down below, on Faerûn.

Davenport howled miserably during his part. He was supposed to give a small speech but even his normal limited speaking style was impeded by his grief. Eventually Killian escorted the soggy gnome from the podium and No.3113 floated up to the podium, coughing slightly to test the thaumatergy spell cast on the whole area. It magnified her voice so that everyone in the quad could hear her. Satisfied, she began.

"I didn't know Madame Director all that well. I mean—not like some a' y'all. I joined later in an' it's kinda' hard t' for that kinda' bond that quickly. I mean...quickly for...well...yeah." She fiddled slightly and swayed where she was hovering. Though she didn't have a face, her body betrayed her worry and sorrow. Even after all this, she still felt like an outsider.

"Death...ain't too bad. It seems kinda' heretical t' say that but...it's not. It's big 'n white 'n everyone y'know is there. That's...y'know...dead, that is." Her conduit hummed, the blue light within just as bright as the day that they had found her in Lucas' lab. It was heartbreaking. "An'...'n I think she'll be pretty happy t' see some of her old friends 'gain. May th' Raven Queen watch over her." Then, piece said, No.3113 floated down from the podium and Taako took her place.

If there had ever been a less appropriate time for Taako to dress like himself, it was now. Thankfully he had forgone his usual eye-searing outfit for a simple black affair with a veil and black nail polish to match. He clasped his hands together and leaned forward on the umbra staff. "Guys. I don't...I never really...had a...place to call home. Growing up I was on the streets and yanno how that shit works: steal to eat, get beat for stealing, starve some more, repeat till dead." He waved one hand in a roundabout manner and sighed. His ears were drooping—moreso than usual—and Taako usually was good at controlling his secondary emotional giveaways. The Reclaimers held eye contact with him. Everyone else looked away, uncomfortable.

(Taako did that sometimes. One of his many drawbacks was that, even though he was nearing the age of emotional maturity for elves, he spoke his mind. He also had trouble reading the situation. This was not one of those times. This was discomfort and emotions that he didn't know how to handle and loss—and he just spoke with all the tact of a five year old.)

"But like...the Director? She made the Bureau a home for me and...I'm grateful for that. Hope you're runnin shit wherever you are. Or at least giving whoever's in charge hell." He, too, walked off the stage.

Magnus was next, treading carefully and softly. There was grey in his beard and sideburns now and his steady movements had less to do with his temperament and feelings and more to do with the ache in his joints. He tried to play it off but Merle's tonics and tinctures could only stave off the pain for so long. He stood at the podium, fighting off tears, and began. "Lucretia was strong. Far stronger than any one of us ever knew, I'm sure. In her later years—the actual ones—she fought even death itself." He laughed, dry and humorless. "She gambled her life on this Bureau and it paid off. We're only one away from finishing what she started. I vow that I and my fellow Reclaimers will find and reclaim this last relic, if not for Lucretia, then for all of Faerûn. I hope this keeps your memory strong." Then he, too, stepped down.

Merle, by all rights, should have been next, but he refused, saying something about 'last rites or someshit' and waving his hand dismissively.

(Pan, it hurt so damn bad, losing her. She wasn't his age but she had an old soul and all the sorrows that came with it. She was easy to relate to sometimes and willing to listen most others. He already missed her and it was so early in the grieving process. So soon. He had so much longer to live and he'd have to live with this pain.)

(He felt so selfish.)

Killian stood at the podium, Carey next to her, fiddling with the ring on her finger. She took a deep breath to steady herself and Carey leaned against her and thrummed, a low sound that calmed the Orc woman. "The Director was the best woman I have ever known, my wife excluded. She was open and supportive and, yeah she was a hardass, but never without reason. She pushed us to be better than the us that existed at the time. She stood there with her staff and a frown on her face, but I've never felt so much love from an employer before. And she was more than that; she was a friend and she was family." She took a shuddering breath and bit her lip with one of her oversized fangs to keep herself from crying. Carey took over then.

"She officiated our wedding, the Director. I've never felt more accepted for who and what I was than when the Director said 'you may now kiss the bride' and Killian swept me off my feet and into the first of many brilliant kisses of my marriage. She never looked down on me for my past, nor did she look down on me for who I loved. The Director may be gone, but I'll make sure that she is never forgotten. In that vein, I've commissioned a song from our own resident bard: Johan. If you would?"

Johan stepped up to the podium and Carey and Killian stepped away, eyes glistening with unshed and burgeoning tears. He solemnly pulled out a gorgeous spruce violin, gilded with ornate spirals of gold and inlaid with small stones—lapis lazuli, larimar, and moonstone—that accented the simple beauty of the instrument. It was something that Johan had commissioned in Neverwinter for a private concert for the Director that she had never gotten to hear.

(Fuck, he had so many good compositions and now no time to play them. He wasn't an elf of luxury, but he afforded himself this one. He wanted it to be special.)

(It wasn't going to happen now.)

The song was complex, rising and falling in tone and mood. First there was a light airy pizzicato of movement and growth. Then it was followed by a waltz that sped up quicker and quicker until even Carey could barely see his fingers fly across the bridge, hemidemisemiquavers striking fast and true with the clarity of bird calls. Next was a hop to 6/8 sonorous refrain that could only be noticed by the sudden drive and lilt to every second note. That transitioned into a mournful lament that brought everyone to tears. Finally it was a striking waltz again, strong and driven. It was a testament to the Director's tenacity and will, even in death. When he finished there wasn't a single dry eye in the gathered Bureau. Everyone was various stages of crying—from big Ghibli tears that dropped off their chins in gobbets to silent streams of sorrow to the ugly crying that involves ever inch of them—and Johan cleared his throat.

"This was a, uh, piece for the Director and I am...I won't be giving this one to the Voidfish. It's called Lachrymose and I'm going to get it copied and sent down to Faerûn to become a legit piece. This is the only one I'm ever gonna be able to do but it's good. It's very good." He, like many others before him, smiled sadly. "May this composition carry your memory to all of Faerûn, Lucretia."

Many other members of the Bureau came and remembered the Director, one-by-one paying their respects and recounting tales of hilarity and woe. Everyone laughed and cried and soon the only ones who hadn't remembered her was Merle and Angus. Awkward and unsure, Angus stepped to the podium, his hat a knotted mess in his hand. He gave a sad look to the Voidfish's tank and then to the remainder of the Bureau that stood before him. With a deep breath, he began.

"Miss Director was very good at her job. She ran this place like a well-oiled machine and without her, it would have fallen to pieces very early on. Those are big shoes to fill." He looked down at his feet, voice quieting. "I'm not the best person. I'm not strong or fast, but I am smart and I think I've got a pretty good grasp on magic, thanks to Taako, so I'm not too bad off. But this isn't about me; it's about the Director." When he looked up again, his whole demeanor was different, more confident and self-assured. He continued, "she only did what she thought was best for Faerûn as a whole. She protected those who could not from things they knew not. It is our duty, as members of the Bureau of Balance, to take the torch that she has lit, and carry it forward. I can't speak for all of you, but I know that I will put my all into maintaining and supporting the bureau she loved so much. And I will never, ever forget her."

Now, finally, it was Merle's turn. He stepped up and turned towards the crowd. In his arms was a lovely bouquet of flowers, bright and healthy. Adonis blossoms lined lilies and pink carnations that was all wrapped and framed in spirals of white birch bark and tied off with a light blue ribbon that bore a metal Bureau of Balance insignia. Merle solemnly and silently placed the bouquet on the floor and walked away. Everyone knew what he meant.

(No one knew, really. Maybe Angus because of how smart the kiddo was, but everyone else was in the dark. It was a secret message from Merle to Lucretia that only he, Angus, and Pan knew and he was fine with that. He didn't trust himself talking though so the silent remembrance would have to do. And he was certain she would approve.)


	2. Cactus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER TWO IS HERE!!!! Prepare for the sads my friends! XD (not sorry at all lmao)

His name was bitter on their tongues. They heard his laughter in their heads and saw his smile—crooked, snaggle-toothed, warm, and sincere—as clear as the last time it was shown to them. It's a sad day, this day. Everyone hated it.

The silence was deafening. Most everyone wanted to cry because emotions were welling up and tearing out and fuck they just wanted to feel less but they felt so damn much! They knew, though, that he would have wanted smiles and laughter, hugs and cheer. He was home. He wasn't suffering anymore. He was with her.

(Fuck they all fucking hated how damn selfish they felt when it came to loss. They wanted him back but they knew it was better this way.)

(And Kravitz offered his condolences but it's not enough. It's never enough.)

Merle went first, old age showing in his beard and his face and his joints and the cane gripped in his hands. He had a bouquet, small and simple, tucked under his arm. It's a memory and remembrance. He grew them himself. He didn't want to need them but...in the end, no one is immortal.

(Old age. Old age for sure. Peaceful and simple, a sigh between his lips and he was gone. A coffin that was empty because the body was on Faerûn, beneath the rubble and ruin of what once was Raven's Roost. Symbolic and sympathetic. Pain and loss. Gone but not forgotten. Never forgotten.)

(Taako clutched Kravitz's arm so hard he drew pink marrow from the bones he had forgotten to conceal. Tactless, yes, but also reverent. 'I am here,' it said, 'and I grieve with you.' 'I am here,' it said, 'and I bring good news. The ferryman was paid and his soul is at rest. Be at peace. Do not fear.')

(They fear. They grieve. It was a small comfort.)

The bouquet was placed next to the Voidfish's tank, wrapped in a silver foil—real silver to remind them of both his place in the Bureau and his wife, whom he loved more than life but for whom he waited for with all he had—and tied with a small blue ribbon. It was fragrant and gorgeous, small sprigs of purple lavender and white clover blossoms wreathing a large, magenta cactus blossom, all wrapped in aloe fronds. Succulents and wildflowers. Cultivated and rough. Everything he was—is—will be.

He didn't need to say anything so he refused to. Tight-lipped, Merle deposited the bouquet and then hobbled his way back to his seat, eyes misty and mouth trying to swallow itself. He choked back grief and adhered to tradition.

Taako was next, his platinum hair pinned up in a plait that Merle agonized over. A few loose strands cascaded over his eyes and, were it not for the situation, he would have looked elegant. As it was, he looked like he was being held together by hair ties and sheer willpower.

Kravitz stayed by where they were before, silently offering support. Taako knew that's all he could ask for. He was so very grateful.

"Fuck him, right?" His voice cracked. He won't cry. He refuses. He refuses. "Fuck him and his goddamn hugs and his goddamn smile and his goddamn fucking amazing personality." He coughed, clearing his throat. He took a deep inhale and then exhaled for much longer. When he looked up at the gathering—smaller now than before; only going to get smaller with time—his resolve was visible. His eyes were steely and the pain was locked deep away.

"Lemme tell y'all about something that happened once with Mango. So here I was, sitting pretty and fucking sipping on that gin and juice, when in clomps in our favorite ruff boi. He's making more noise than Johan at one AM and, when your hearing is like mine and you were having some luxurious me-time, you don't appreciate that.

"So I snap at him. 'Some of us are trying to meditate,' I lied.

"And that galoot—that big teddy bear—gave me a small smile. 'Sorry,' he apologized. 'Didn't mean to interrupt. Lemme just...move on...'

"And, like, the whole time he's apologizing he's tip-toeing his way to his room but like...he fucking sucks at it. You can take a Magnus to a moon base but you can't make him walk like a normal human being. Every step he takes sounds like he's whacking a hammer against the tile. And every step he takes he apologizes. Like the whole damn time.

"'Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. My bad. Sorry. Sorry.' Like some sorta broken record." Taako inhaled—no, fuck you, he didn't sniffle—and continued. "So I eventually just set down my drink and look him square in the face.

"'Magnus, m'boy, just fucking sprint, it would be kinder.' And you know what that damn idiot did?" He paused for effect. Everyone was rapt with attention and crying at the same time.

(Loss cannot be so easily drowned with humor.)

"He fucking did what I asked. Later though, here's the kicker, later he hugged me. He hugged me and then told me that I was special and perfect and that he loved me." Taako took a shuddery breath. Everyone else felt the same. "He had so much love for everyone. The damn fool was stuffed to the gills with love for every living thing. Fuck him. Now I'm fucking love-deprived. When I get to the astral plane, I'm gonna kick his ass and then demand mandatory cuddle sessions for the rest of forever. How dare." Tears dripping down his chin, Taako stepped down. Angus stepped up.

Sometimes it was easy to forget that humans lived so quickly. Dwarves and elves and tieflings and goliaths and aarakocra and halflings and gnomes and dragonborn and even orcs far outclassed humans in length. Sometimes by years and sometimes by decades.

It would be a long time before Merle was gone, even in his age, and Taako would outlast them all.

They are reminded when Angus, a little boy only a moment before, now in his thirties, stands at the podium and holds back a sob. He is older, sure, but so young. He's a baby and he cries because, again, he has lost a loved one.

Sir Director, Angus McDonald of the Bureau of Balance, stood at attention. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. He was centered. He began.

"Magnus was—is—one of the first four people who took it upon themselves to make themselves my family. The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. You choose your friends and you choose your family. He chose me as I couldn't be more proud.

"He loved to tease me. When I was younger, inexperienced and unsure of myself; all limbs and voice and pride, he would take my things and keep them just out of reach of me. When I met and then surpassed him in height, I gleefully snatched my cap from his grip and he looked so pleased. I don't think I'd ever felt that happy that someone was pleased with me. I will remember that forever.

"He was crude. He liked to swear. He had a weird thing for ripping off arms. Mostly robot ones," Angus shot a sly look at Merle's soulwood arm and smiled, a sad quirk of the corner of his mouth, "but exceptions can be made if the situation is right."

"Fuck you!" Merle shook his cane at Angus halfheartedly. It was a goof after all, and the dwarf knew it. The boy had gotten good at goofs.

"Fuck you too, sir," Angus replied. A soft wave of laughter crossed the room. Taako sad the loudest. "He was good at everything he put his mind to. That's why he, along with Merle and Taako, found and destroyed all but the last Relic. That Relic will not elude us much longer. This I swear. And Magnus, I will remember you as long as my mind remains sharp. You have my word. Now rush in to the greatest adventure you have ever faced."

When he stepped down, applause greeted him. He didn't notice the distant look in Taako's eyes. He didn't notice how Merle couldn't seem to focus on any one thing for longer than a few seconds. He didn't notice Carey and Killian, hand in hand, walking to the podium. He didn't notice the Voidfish's song, low and soft, sad and keening. Grief blinded him.

(But he had to be strong. The Bureau needed him. The Reclaimers needed him. Faerûn needed him. Big boys don't cry—except when they do. He would persevere. He would preservere.)

The oddly-matched couple never let go of one another's hands. The rosewood ring on Killian's left ring finger glistened with tears that were wept and wood polish. Carey's burnished gold ring glistened as well. They both were gifts. They both were memories. They both were from Magnus.

"A gift—" Carey began. She stopped, choking on her sorrow.

"Magnus was—is a gift. He had kindness in him that no one else can ever hope to match." Killian gently nuzzled the cobalt snout of her wife. "He could deadlift me and then some. Kindness does not equate weakness."

"When I was preparing to propose to Killian, Magnus made me a ring. Rosewood in the form of a rose. Forever. Always. Stained purple. Enchantment. He...he knew. He knew before I knew. He knew before she knew. He knew." She took a moment to allow her tears to flow. She buried her face in Killian's silvery mane and hiccoughed, loudly sobbing. Killian gently rubbed her horns and San a song in Orc, deep and thrumming. The bass reached deep in Carey's bones and calmed her.

"One time, Magnus came to me and asked me if I had a ring picked out. I was flabbergasted; I hadn't thought about what kind of ring to get Carey. I wasn't certain how I could find a perfect ring for my perfect girl. Then he handed me this," Killian held up Carey's hand, showing off her wedding band, "and asked me to use it. It was...it belonged to his wife. Julia. Jules, he called her. She was...he said that he looked at her like I look at Carey and fuck. He teared up.

"'She'd want you to have this,' he said. 'If she had known the two of you, she'dve made you a ring herself but since...since she isn't...I think this is the best thing.'

"He looked a bit ashamed at how worn the ring was. 'Sorry it isn't pretty or ornate,' he apologized, 'but I had to dig it out of the rubble and I could never bring myself to change how it looked. But...she worked with her hands and never took much care of it anyway. And a shiny ring would give away the thief that stole your heart.'" Killian laughed, mixed with a sob.

"It was beautiful. It is beautiful. It's a reminder of love lost and love found and love that survives. He never stopped loving her." Carey smiled weakly. "He's with her now."

(An old tradition: something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. A busted up secondhand ring. A beautiful rosewood ring. A dress that once adorned Taako's full figure. A pretty blue dragonborn. A marriage to last. A memory with smiles.)

(They're certain he's still smiling about that.)

They remembered. They celebrated. They mourned. It was reverent and painful and real. The Voidfish cried. Everyone cried. They sang songs of sorrow. They sang songs of love. They sang songs of life. They sang songs of death.

Kravitz proposed a toast. He held his glass high and said three words. They're repeated. Again and again and again like an echo of hope and loss and memory. They agreed. They knocked back their glasses. They echoed the toast.

"Magnus rushes in!"

(And beyond the veil, the lovers are reunited. They hold hands. They kiss. The reminisce. They wait. Good things come to those who wait and they have forever.)

(Death and taxes, in the end. Consistent and real. Death and taxes.)


	3. Asphodel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the order of things. Y'all can hate me all you want. Characters are like geodes: if you want to see them shine, you must first BREAK THEM.
> 
> Also, the first person to decode the bouquets in each chapter (on a chapter-by-chapter basis) will get a picture drawn for them or a fic written for them. A 'request' if you will.
> 
> (I take my floral language really seriously.)
> 
> And sorry for not participating in TAZ Lady Week. Been busy. Had shit to do.

Taako was inconsolable. He was just howling in grief. No one in the Bureau had ever seen him like this but no one really faulted him. Out of all of the Rites that had passed during the Bureau of Balance's operation, this one was the most personal to him. Magnus, yes. His passing was hard on the Reclaimers and the Regulators especially but this? This was close to home and Taako had every right to be so open about his feelings for a change.

Merle was, well, he wasn't too well-off either. He was crying, which is something no one really expected him to do, but he was solemn. The old coot hadn't expected to outlive this one. He hadn't expected to outlive Angus.

(Fuck humans and their fucking lifespans. Fuck them and their goddamn stupidly short lives. Fuck them and them making you fall in love with them! Fuck all of it!)

With Mavis' help, Merle walked up to the podium and placed his bouquet down in reverence to Angus. He hobbled, his legs protesting every movement, and bowed his head in a silent prayer to Pan. Over the years—decades even—his faith had grown. He had seen lives come and lives go and he was long since tired of living but he knew that Pan had a plan, and that plan apparently included him outliving all but one of his friends.

The bouquet was nothing extravagant, like all of the others, and reflected everything that Angus was. Three lilies—asphodel, white, and lily of the valley, though the first wasn't technically a lily—surrounded by a smattering of purple stock, soft peach blossoms, and garnished with spring crocuses. The whole thing was wrapped in thin blossoming reeds and tied with a blue ribbon and pinned with a soft blue feather.

He looked out on the crowd, smaller now than ever before, and younger too, and spoke. His voice rang out, amplified with the Thaumaturgy cast on the podium. It still ached with age and pain. "I never...I never thought I'd outlive this shithead. Magnus sure, cause he was reckless and a dumbass and he put others before himself by putting himself in the line of fire but Angus?" He inhaled shakily. "Didn't see that one at all."

Mavis rubbed his back slowly, gently, and smiled at him. She had become a wonderful dwarven woman, strong in her own right and just as bullheaded as her mother, and her husband and wife looked at her with pride shining in their eyes.

"I teased him mercilessly, without pity, and sometimes maliciously but he still gave me all the love he could. More than I could have ever expected from the turd but...it was appreciated. When Lucretia, may her memory live on, passed, he took over with all the courage he could muster. He stood tall and took charge and did all he could to keep this moon-base running smooth. Even when we failed to find that last Relic again and again. Even when we lost member after member. Even when all the members left were leaving by the grace of Pan and the new ones were coming in younger and younger, he persevered. He held strong. He was strong." His eye, cloudy with cataracts and filled with tears, closed slowly. It was a blink of sorts, languid and shuddering. Then he opened his eye again and it was sharp and focused.

"As long as I remain I will honor his memory. I will love his children better than my own. I will love his grandchildren better than my own. I will bless his family as best I am able. And I will serve his family as best I am able." Then he held up his X-Treme Teen Bible and shouted as loud as his lungs would let him. "I, Merle Highchurch, cleric of Pan, bind my soul and service to the line of Angus McDonald, Director of the Bureau of Balance, and give him and his kin both my blessing and my love." Spent, he slumped in Mavis' arms and she guided him back to his seat.

Taako was the next person to stand. He was the last person who knew Angus personally, aside from NO-3113, and he had some shit to say. If, that is, he could pull himself together enough to say them.

"Angus," his voice cracked, "Angus was a fucking nuisance. He was always underfoot, he knew too much, he fucking never knew when to shut up, and he just was a fucking amazing kid. He – he was one of the first people I openly told about Glamour Springs. He listened to me and comforted me and told me everything was gonna be okay and I just—" his voice broke and he cried for a moment, loud ugly tears that distorted his magic glamour and revealed the flushed, mottled face beneath. "He was my kid. I didn't want him at first but he was mine because I was his and that's how that shit works apparently. He was my kid and he loved me unconditionally and I fucking miss him so much. I just...I—!" Kravitz glided up to meet Taako and took him gently in a broad, one-armed hug.

"It's okay," he murmured into Taako's hair. "Everything is going to be alright. He's better now. He's not hurting. You'll meet him again."

They sat down and NO-3113 floated up to the podium and hovered nervously. Her hands twiddled as she tried to get her thoughts under control. Then she spoke, her fuse flickering with her voice. "I have long-since outlived many a' my kin. I have also outlived many a' my friends. These're facts." She paused and wavered slightly in her hovering position. "Angus...was a gift. He was bright an' full a' life an' always ready to help. He had a bright outlook on life an' an even brighter view a' his friends, whether or not they felt th' same. An' I will hold on t'that ideal 'till I finally return t'th' Astral Plane." She held her hands out, splaying her 'fingers' apart, and focused. Magic, or perhaps science, pooled in her hands. It was a brightly cyan, sparking with power, and moved like water. It dribbled between her fingers and dripped onto the bouquet that Merle had brought up. The flowers glistened with the energy and when she stopped producing it, it clung to the petals like dew.

Magical, glowing dew.

"This is my gift t'y'all. Remembrin'. These flowers will last. We will last. An' we will continue. I hope that I'll do a good job as y'all's new Director. I have large shoes t'fill an' no feet." The small crowd chuckled and her fuse glowed brighter.

And as a whole, they Remembered him. And as a whole, they Forgot him. And as a whole, they mourned him. And as a whole, they buried him.

(And as one, he talked to him. And as one, he envied him. And as one, he missed him. And as one, he dreamed of him.)


	4. Nightshade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well now that the AO3 update is up, I can post this :3
> 
> Hoo boy is this a thing. Pain ahoy. Also welcome the Astari clan to the pain.
> 
> One more and then we're done. Idk how to feel about that but damn. It's a thing.

Breathing was hard. Existing was hard. Every little fucking damn thing was hard. It was bullshit, being like this. Being alone like this. Being alone after all these years.

Being fucking alone.

No one was there. They were all gone. Johann, Killian, Carey, Brad, Davenport, Leon, Avi, all of them were gone. He was all that was left. He was all they had.

Mookie was crying. He screamed in pain and sorrow as he watched the shell of what he knew was once his father be buried six feet down, his soulwood arm left for something more important. He keened, wildly beating his fist against his QP's chest as he demanded that whatever cruel joke was being played on them be stopped. He clutched at his QP's shirt and weeped openly. He grieved how he grieves. He was inconsolable.

Mavis was silent, her wife and her husband and their children wept quietly as their poppy was lowered down to his final resting place. She held so tight to her holy symbol that the holes of the pipes cut into her hand and left raised bumps. She prayed to Pan. She prayed he was safe and happy and free of pain. She prayed that he was finally where he needed to be and that he wasn't worrying about them.

She prayed that she would never forget.

Angus' children and husband stood there, just as sad and just as inconsolable as Merle's own blood kin. He had kept his promise to watch and protect Angus' kin. Sivan was nearing the end of his own life but their three children were only getting into their prime.

Jasper, against all odds, had persevered. She wore mechanical braces to support her and help ease her pain and she walked and talked and was as healthy as she had ever been. She wept now, not silent tears like her brothers, but open sobbing that made her face a muddy color. She, out of all of the Astari kids, missed him the most. He had given her faith when hope was running low. He had given her hope when her life was running short. He had given her advice when she didn't know what to do. He had been there. He had loved her.

He was gone. So she wept.

T'sun was silent, no tears, no crying. He wrung his hands as he chewed his lips to ribbons, small bits of blood dribbling onto his chin. He was tall now, far taller than Taako, and his hands were calloused and dirty. He loved him so much. He taught him how to work the earth and how to garden properly. He taught him how to feel with his hands and emote with his hands. He taught him how to be more. He was gone and there was a void.

A Merle-shaped void.

Tim stared blankly at the coffin. Astaroth whispered to him in the back of his head. 'You miss him. He was good to you. Not like them. Not like the rest of them.' He did miss him. He had listened to him talk about Astaroth—long after he realized that people didn't like Astaroth—and offered advice. Even though he pitched Pan once, he backed off when Astaroth laid Tim flat. He taught Tim how to dance and sew and knit and braid and accept all people during all of their walks of life. That no one was evil because of their beliefs, just because of their actions—active or passive or verbal. 'You want him back. I could do that. I know.'

"Not now," Tim murmured, "not ever. The dead stay dead. Let him rest." And Astaroth fell silent.

But he was right. He missed him. But he knew that he was somewhere he worked his whole life to get to. And he knew that one day they would all join him—all but him. He had a promise to keep.

Taako stood there, a tear-soaked bouquet of flowers clenched in his fist, and mustered up the courage to walk up to his shitty bullshit dead friend's grave and fucking give him the damn flowers, like he had given everyone else before he fucking keeled over like some sort of old fart!

"Here, you shit," he hissed as he pitched the bouquet into the hole. "Fucking choke on them." Then he stomped off, bare feet leaving dents in the soft morning ground.

Kravitz glided up to Merle's fresh grave and knelt down to pick up the bouquet. "Don't be upset. He's hurting. He misses you." He cast a look out at the crowd and gave a wistful smile, "they all do." He took a deep breath—one he didn't need—and nodded. "This is appropriate, you know. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Or, since you were a Pannite, dirt to dirt and shit to more shit." He laughed, a soft plosive huff that swirled eddies of dirt. "He grew these himself. Worked real hard. No magic either." He revitalized the flowers and placed them gently in the grave. "Rest easy. I'll watch over him."

And echoing, past a bouquet of nightshade flowers ringed with small bunches of cudweed and soft pink meadowsweet blossoms, was the sly laugh of a dwarven man who knew that taking care of that one was a full-time job.

(And within a few months, almost supernaturally, the soulwood arm that had been planted on his grave had grown to large proportions, strange assortments of flowers that naturally should not form on trees like that blooming brightly. And when anyone who was close to the man beneath the tree stopped by, the branches would gently brush their hair out of their face and they could almost hear his voice comforting them.)


	5. Rosemary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the chorus swells.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big S/O to Griffin McElroy for making me cry. And for p much Jossing this whole fic. Ah well. Good on you Griffo. Y'did so well. You amazing storyteller you.
> 
> This is the end of this one. No more of this brand of sad. (Note I said 'this brand'. I'm never gonna not write sad.) I'm so glad so many of you liked this story. It was a journey for both you and I and I am so happy it's over.
> 
> It changes tense to present (pretty consistent through this chapter but different from the rest of the story) so heads up!
> 
> I have a sad habit of not finishing works. I learned recently that it's a byproduct of ADHD but I can say with certainty that the more praise and attention I receive, the more likely I am to work on it, provided that I can remember what I was doing. But I kept on this. I kept on all of this and it paid off.
> 
> With the revelations that Griff fucking laid on us Thursday, I am just shook. So shook. And now I have more of a playground to enjoy! Yay!
> 
> Thanks for being with me on this journey. Thanks for continuing to support my shitty writing hobby. :3
> 
> And, as usual, thank you for just reading. It means a lot to me.

It was time. All things end, after all. As he is wont to do, Taako does not go softly into this good night. He kicks and screams the whole way. He swears and throws spells. His body gives out—exhaustion—and he collapses.

Kravitz is there, patient and smiling. Just as young. Just as pretty. Just as kind. He is everything that Taako had and lost. He is everything that no one but Taako wanted.

He is boney and bare, a thin hand reaching out as the other clutches his scythe. Taako takes his hand and rights himself in the Astral part of the Material plane. His knees are tucked beneath him, a practiced motion from so many decades of Levitating about. Kravitz chuckles.

"Couldn't just come quietly."

"'S how Taako do." His voice is there, younger than before, like the last time he had seen his friends alive. He remembers everything. He remembers everyone. He is, understandably, bitter.

"She's sorry she wasn't there."

"Not her fault. She's not the one I'm pissed at." He glowers. Kravitz laughs.

"She _also_ says she's sorry. She only did what she thought was right." He tilts his head in inquisition. "She is proud of you though. _All_ of them are."

" _Fuck 'em!_ "

"Well that's unfair." What's unfair is Kravktz flirting so softly, so gently, as if nothing had changed.

"Fuck you too buddy."

Another patient smile. "Ready?"

"No."

"Will you ever be?"

" _Fuck no._ "

"Well then let's go, shall we?" And Death, in all his handsome glory, rips a tear into the Astral plane proper. He takes him over the threshold. Monochrome grey fades as color comes back, more brilliant than anything in the Material plane had been.

And there, standing in a group, are _all_ of his friends. Angus, fucking smiling with his arm around Sivan and their kids. Magnus, happily embracing his wife. Merle and Mookie and Mavis and Davenport, all of them a strangely motley crew with Hekuba flitting from one of her children to another. Lucretia, standing tall and looking so subdued, her arm around Maureen and Lucas, a gentle apology written across her face. Carey, Killian, and Noelle—not the robot but the halfling—grouped up with _another_ halfling, a blue dragonborn, a halfling with scales and frills, an elf, and a haughty human. Avi and Johan and Hurley and Sloane and Gundren and Isaac and June and Jack and Ren and Brad and Cassidy and Paloma and Cam— _all_ of him, not _just_ his head—and Artemis and Rowan and Antonia and Graham and Jess and Brogden and Klaarg and the rest of the hugbears and everyone who had ever made any sort of lasting impact on Taako's life was there and they are happily greeting him.

And in the front, looking sheepish and a bit horrified, is Barry Bluejeans and Lup. _His sister._

He fights back, with all of his might, the urge to fling himself at her. Instead he watches them all come up to him, one-by-one, with greetings and praises and apologies and laughter. Magnus and Julia sweep him up in a bear-hug sandwich—here he was thinking that no one was bigger or more affectionate than Magnus but _nope_! Julia is _just_ as bad—and laugh when he beats them off with his— _her_ staff.

Carey, Killian, and Noelle excitedly swarm him and laugh about stupid shit he did when they were gone. He rolls his eyes but he's pleased.

Angus hollers and tackles him, Sivari and their kids following. They all speak at once but soon they peter out and Taako can hear them separately again.

Lucretia steps up with Maureen and Lucas and bends down, apologizing. Taako is steely at first but he pats her shoulder and forgives her. What's done is done and it worked out in the end. Lucas sneers at how easily he forgives but Taako thumps him on the forehead and calls him a nerdlinger. Maureen just smiles, amused.

The people of Refuge gather him up and swap stories for a bit. They regale him with tales of their lives and tales of his life and when he gets ready to leave, Ren hugs him tightly and Paloma tells him he did well.

The rest of the Bureau come, one by one, to pat him on the back. Those he remembers are pleased. Those he doesn't just shrug. "It's _Taako_ ," they say, "it's how he goes."

Hurley and Sloane embrace him—the height difference being _very_ weird—and whisper their thanks. Taako glows with praise but refuses to admit a thing.

And then there's Merle and his clan. Davenport nods in appreciation, knowing that this understanding must've come too little too late. Taako nods out of respect. Hekuba gives him a not-so-gentle slug to the shoulder. He rubs it in pain but smiles. It's high praise from her. Mookie and Mavis just greet him. Mavis pats him on the back, subtly gestures to Davenport and Merle, and winks. He gets it and winks back. Mookie just hugs and bolts. Merle grins as he awkwardly greets Taako. The silence is thick and uncomfortable but he appreciates it. Merle hands him a single flower. _Just one_. He winks. Then he leaves.

And there is Barry, stepping forward with his Tom Arnold looking ass, looking apologetic. "I—" he begins.

" _Don't_." Taako cut him off. "Just know that death will not stop me from killing you. Not that I'd have the chance, but fuck if I won't try."

"Thank you." And he retreats.

Behind him, Kravitz stiffens, a stifled laugh escaping and dying as Lup walks forward to greet her brother. Her _twin_.

"Hey there stranger," she quips.

"Wow, you're pretty ugly looking," his voice cracks slightly but he smirks as he retorts.

"And you're not much better yourself." There is a pause, pregnant and horrifying, but Taako rushes in.

He sweeps her in a hug. She returns the favor by gently squeezing him as her arms wrap around him. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there," she whispers.

"I'm sorry I forgot."

"Not your fault."

"Same."

"You've got shit taste in men."

"Like Barold is any better?"

"At least he's alive. _Was_ alive. Was alive when I started dating him."

Taako snorts. "He wore denim to your wedding. He's a _mess_."

"Says the fashion disaster."

"Says the lumberjack lesbian."

"And here I am, getting more dick than you."

"Touché." They broke away and Taako finally looked at the now-crushed flower in his hand. "Well shit."

"I don't think Merle'll mind."

"And if he does, _fuck him._ "

Lup barked out a laugh and tucked the flower behind her brother's ear. "Now go get boned bro. I'm gonna catch up on lost sex myself."

"Ew."

"Same."

And Lup prances off and drags Barry to wherever they were gonna fuck. And Taako watches his friends and family mill about, smiling and talking and happy. And he turns to look Kravitz in the eyes and he's there. He's tangible. He's still with him. He still loves him.

And a void filled in his chest. And the loneliness abates. And the flower tucked behind his ear loses a petal.

(But it remains, in true Astral fashion, a beautiful blossom. A blue-violet rosemary flower that shimmers with etherial light.)

(And at last, they are _remembered_.)


End file.
